


Perfidious Albion

by Thea_Bromine



Series: Consenting Adults [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_Bromine/pseuds/Thea_Bromine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did Jenny let Ripper out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfidious Albion

He had been pretending for a fortnight that he couldn’t see Xander: Jenny had said that the boy cared about Giles’ good opinion, which had come as something of a surprise, but his observations over the last two weeks had confirmed her view. Xander had kept out of the library, as he had been told to do; twice Giles had come across him out of hours, sitting on the floor outside the library doors, waiting for Willow or Buffy, and had stepped across his legs without a word or a glance. Without an _apparent_ glance – he was a Watcher, and he was well versed in the skills of watching without appearing to do so. Both times – and on several other occasions on which he had passed Xander in the hall without acknowledgement – he had seen the boy’s shoulders droop and an expression of mixed shame and disappointment cross his face. Xander did indeed care what Giles thought of him, and although Giles felt a certain amount of sympathy for his unhappiness, he was inclined to follow through on what he had said, to exact every last element of the punishment he had imposed, in the hope of never having to do so again.

He half expected the boy to come to him on the afternoon of the fourteenth day – and indeed, he stayed half an hour past his usual time just in case – but Xander obviously was taking no chances. Two weeks, Giles had said and Xander allowed him every minute of it. The next morning, though, well before the start of the school day, Xander was standing at the library door when Giles, keys in hand, arrived.

This time Giles stopped, and looked at him; Xander raised miserable eyes to his face, opened his mouth and hesitated. Giles waited, and suppressed a smile when the word that came out of Xander's mouth was “Sir.” Plainly the boy wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to call Giles by his name without an honorific.

“Go into the office and wait for me.”

He made Xander wait another five minutes while he pretended to sort some papers; he might have made it longer but he could see that Xander was trying: he didn’t fidget, or lean against the desk, or sit down uninvited. He merely stood in the office and waited, eyes on the floor.

“What have you to say for yourself?”

The apology was abject. It was also, if Giles knew anything about it, carefully scripted, probably by Willow, who had forgiven Xander after a couple of days. Xander had learned it by heart; when Giles moved halfway through, he lost his thread, stammered for a moment, caught himself and went on.

He didn’t look up when he had finished. Giles thought he probably wasn’t expecting – although he was plainly hoping – to be forgiven. He _was_ expecting to be chewed out, and Giles obliged him, using, one after another, all the words he knew would sting. Betrayal of trust. Danger to the Slayer. Disloyalty to the Watcher. Abuse of Giles’ personal goodwill. (That one got a visible flinch, which was interesting.)

“Can you assure me that you will not let me down in such a way again?”

Xander said something strangled which might have been a promise of proper behaviour, and Giles was merciful.

“Xander, I, I don’t mean that you can never make a mistake. I know you’re young, and you won’t necessarily always make good choices. But you cannot possibly have thought that what you were doing was anything other than unacceptable. It was expressly against school rules, apart from any personal complaint I may have. It wasn’t a mistake: it was wilful misbehaviour.” He waited a moment and prompted gently: “Wasn’t it?”

Xander nodded miserably.

“Very well. You’ve been punished for it, and you’ve apologised. Have, have you made your peace with Miss Calendar?” He knew that Xander had submitted the paper Jenny had imposed; she had indeed made Giles read it, and had told him, wryly, that his own share of the punishment was to say nothing about the spelling and grammar.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I will accept your apology and we’ll say no more about it.” He let his tone warm. “It’s over.” Xander let out a huge breath, and Giles could see that his hands were shaking. He would have liked to put an arm around the lad as a demonstration of forgiveness, and he thought that the tactile Xander would have understood and appreciated it, but he had no illusions about Principal Snyder’s dislike of him. He was already on the edge of what the man thought acceptable, having Xander in his office with the blinds down and the door closed. He needed something else to make plain that the boy was back in favour. “Would, would you do something for me? There was nobody in the office when I came past. Would you go down there now and, and collect my mail?”

The smile was rather shaky, but Xander nodded, and went, and Giles was left to shake his head in amusement, and make tea. Nothing could be done without tea.

The mail was placed carefully on the library counter; Xander looked at the pile of books from the day before. “You want these re-shelved?” It was tentative: no matter what Giles had said, Xander wasn’t absolutely certain that he was fully restored to his place.

“Have you time?”

“Could do some of them now? Got a free period after recess, could finish them then?”

He ought to tell the boy that his free period was for schoolwork, and do the shelving himself, but Xander still looked like a kicked puppy, inclined to roll on his back and show his belly.

“I, I would appreciate that.”

He started to open his mail while Xander trotted up and down the stairs with handfuls of books; most of it, as usual, went for immediate filing in the waste paper basket, with a handful of subscription magazines and bookshop fliers, and the occasional invoice or order confirmation. He didn’t recognise this one: the paperwork must be in his tray.

Ten minutes later, when Xander came back to the desk, Giles was looking into space with a thoughtful expression.

“Gi... Giles? Gotta go, but I’ll see you later?”

“What? Oh! Yes, thank you, Xander, that’s, that’s a big help.” He pretended not to notice the hesitation in the way Xander had addressed him. The less he made of their breach, the sooner the reconciliation would be complete. “Xander, do you have a class with Miss Calendar today?”

Xander nodded. “Last before recess.” His voice was a little unsteady, and Giles suddenly remembered that he was still on probation there. He pretended not to notice that either.

“Would, would you take her a message for me? Just when you go to class, it’s not urgent. Give her my compliments and ask if she would oblige me by calling in the library at recess.”

“You wanna see her in here at recess. Check.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I said, Xander.”

Xander looked puzzled; Giles elaborated. “Don’t translate or, or summarise. What I want you to say is precisely this: ‘Mr Giles’ compliments, Miss Calendar, and he would be obliged if you could call in the library during recess.’”

Xander looked blank. Giles sighed. “Yes, it’s the same thing, more or less, but my way is stuffy English formal manners.”

“Oh. O.K. You still have to be stuffy and English with her? Not,” hastily, “that it’s any of my business.”

And Giles rather wanted it kept that way, but he needed the message taken because...

“Well, actually, it’s, it’s not _that_ stuffy and formal. If I wanted to be really formal, I wouldn’t ask her to come here, it would be more proper for me to go to her, but it’s, it’s library business, so I can be more informal.”

Xander was shaking his head. “‘Mr Giles’ compliments’ is _informal_?”

“No: expecting a lady to go out of her way for a gentleman is informal.” He maintained a blank expression in the face of Xander's bewildered amusement.

Xander shook his head. “I’ll never get this. O.K. I’ll tell her. I’ll see ya later, Giles.”

Giles let him get ten feet towards the door, and then called after him. “Xander? If she has a brown paper parcel, you don’t have to carry it for her. Anything else, you do.”

“Huh?”

He laughed. “If you walk with a lady and she’s carrying something, it’s proper for you to take it and carry it for her. The only exception is a brown paper parcel. You should pretend that you don’t even _see_ a brown paper parcel.”

Xander's eyes went wide. “What do women – ladies – carry in brown paper parcels?”

Giles shook his head. “I’ve never dared ask.”   

He had plenty to do even without the re-shelving; the morning passed quickly. With a few minutes to go, he gathered the papers he needed, and retreated to his office to gather himself, and put himself into the right frame of mind for what he wanted to do.

“Rupert?”

He kept his back turned. “Close the door, please.” It was coolly spoken. He didn’t turn until he heard the click; her expression was a little suspicious. He wasn’t sure if she would have picked up that normally, no matter what he wanted to know, he would have gone to her rather than calling on her to come to him, but... well, that worked in his own head, so it didn’t really matter if it didn’t work in hers.

“Would you like to explain this?” He held out the sheet of paper, unsmiling. She took it, frowning at him, obviously bewildered by his manner.

“It’s an order confirmation for a computing magazine.”

“I can see that,” he said patiently. “What I would like to know is why I have received it.”

She gazed at him as if he had lost his mind. “Rupert, please tell me we’re not going to have this conversation again. The computing department is a bona fide part of the school, and as such we’re entitled to...” She tailed off, because he was shaking his head.

“What I want to know,” he elaborated, “is why the confirmation has come to me when there has been no purchase paperwork submitted to the library.”

She tipped her head sideways. “Of course there has.”

“I don’t have it. I have no recollection of seeing it. And as you are well aware, no library purchase may be made without my written authorisation.”

She frowned again. “But I... No, I know I did the form. I remember filling it in. You were... oh... you weren’t here. I came to leave it for you and you weren’t here, the library was locked. What did I do with it, I wonder?”

He raised an eyebrow, calmly. “I suggest you find out, and bring it to me with all despatch.”

“Well, you don’t need to get in a snit about it,” she said crossly. “It’s only...”

“It’s only,” he clarified, “the paperwork I need to balance the budget for the library. And while I appreciate that you prefer electrons to paper, madam, the auditors will prefer paper.”

She stared at him and he bit the inside of his lip to avoid laughing.

“I only...”

“You only decided that the paperwork for my library didn’t matter. And that, madam, is _arrogance_ and disrespect.”

The words obviously made the connection for her: her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open; then she looked hastily away. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find that purchase order and bring it to me. When you’ve done that, we’ll discuss your punishment. While you’re looking for it, you can be considering what you might deserve. Is that clear?”

She nodded. “Yes, Rupert.”

He stared. “I _beg_ your pardon?”

“Yes, sir?” she corrected herself meekly.

“Better. Go.”

She went, and he allowed himself to smile. He really, _really_ , hoped that she could find the purchase order before she had to go back to class. He wanted her to spend the rest of the day knowing his intentions.

She did.

She came back with it in her hand. “I’d left it in my filing.”

He inclined his head. “That was careless, don’t you think?”

She nodded, and he put on his more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger expression. “It won’t do, Jenny. Will it?”

She looked at the floor. “No, sir.”

“I’m very sorry, my dear, but you must see that I can’t let it pass.”

She clasped her hands in front of her and fidgeted. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, you have classes to teach, and there’s a staff meeting after hours, so we can’t do anything until then. I have, I have some responsibilities to look after this evening.” Getting a Slayer and her friends out on patrol and for once he wasn’t going to accompany them. “You had better come to my flat – shall we say eight o’clock? – and I’ll deal with you then. It’s going to mean a trip across my knee, Jenny.”

He wasn’t sure quite what reaction to expect. He didn’t _think_ she would go for the childish pouting – he hoped not. He knew a lot of people played this sort of game as if one of them was juvenile, but he didn’t care for that. When she was his Mistress he didn’t feel young and innocent. He wasn’t a schoolboy and he didn’t want her to be a schoolgirl, either. She wasn’t of an age with Buffy and Willow, she was a _woman._

“Yay, a spanking!”

She got him: he laughed out loud. “ _Yes_ , madam, a spanking. Try not to show quite so much enthusiasm, it’s supposed to be a punishment. In fact,” and he narrowed his eyes at her and hesitated. _Would_ she be up for something more?

“What are you wearing under that skirt, Jenny?”

She smiled at him, and leaned back against his desk. “What do you think?”

He frowned. “Knickers, tights, slip.”

She shook her head. “Panties, garter belt, stockings, lined skirt so no slip.”

He put on his shocked expression again. “Out in public with _no petticoat_? Disgraceful. But I approve of the suspender belt and stockings.”

“Garter belt,” she countered. His turn to shake his head.

“Garters are singular and worn by brides and the twenty-four Companions of the Queen of England. Also strippers. Those are suspenders, holding your stockings up.”

She leaned forward and hooked a finger in one of his braces. “Suspender.”

“Braces. And if you snap that, I’ll spank you here and now and be damned to who’s watching.”

This time she did pout. “You let Buffy do it!”

“Buffy’s stronger than me and I can’t think of a way of stopping her. Take your knickers off.”

He’d got _her_ this time. Her mouth fell open. “Do _what_?”

He grinned. “I believe you heard me. Take them off.”

She hesitated, but she didn’t actually refuse. “Not _knickers_ , Rupert. Panties.”

He made a face. “Please not? As far as I’m concerned, panties belong to very small girls, children young enough still to have cartoon characters on their underwear. I’m really not comfortable with thinking of you that way, it, it...” He descended to the local vernacular. “It wigs me.”

Jenny shook her head. “Why am I standing here discussing the etymology of terms for underwear with a British librarian?”

“Because you’re procrastinating, madam, and it’s disobedient. Take them off.”

She gave him a considering look and then glanced through the glass into the library.

“There’s nobody there; I’ve been listening. Xander – and about thirty others – will be here in,” he glanced at his watch, “approximately two minutes.” The door banged. “Or indeed, that will be Xander now; he’s trying to stay on the right side of me, so he’ll be early. You had better be quick. I don’t _think_ he’ll barge in without knocking...”

“Rupert...”

He stepped close enough that she had to tilt her head to look at him; he knew he was a big man, and he knew how to use his size to his advantage.

“Knickers off, Jenny. You’re going to be spanked tonight, and you can spend some time thinking about it. It will do you good. When you feel the inside of your skirt against your skin, it will remind you of what I’m going to do. I want you _ready_ , so that when I pull your skirt up, I have nothing else to do.”

“Pervert!” she accused, but her mouth twitched.

He shrugged. “Guilty. Get them off.”

She cast one more look through the glass to see where Xander was, and Giles shifted, putting his back against the door. Then swiftly she slid her hands under her skirt, tugged and stepped free of the scrap of fabric which fell to the floor. She reached for it, but Giles was quicker, quirking an eyebrow at her and crumpling the garment in his hand, tucking it into his pocket.

“You might be tempted to put them on again later; I shall save you from yourself.”

She laughed aloud. “You bastard!”

He looked hurt. “My parents had been married twenty-two months when I was born. And I think you can have something extra for that tonight. That’s no sort of language for a lady to use.”

“You’d better be careful when you clean your spectacles – specially at the staff meeting. I can just picture Snyder’s face.”

He winced. “So can I. He’d probably think they were mine. And on that happy note, I had better go and prepare to defend my library against all comers, and you have a class to teach. Except...” He hesitated. “Jenny, give me your safe-word.”

“My...? Oh. ‘Babbage’. Now I feel bad, Rupert: I never even asked you for yours.”

He smiled. “I’m bigger than you. I doubt you could make me do anything against my will. Unless, of, of course, you used magic, in which case a safe-word would be moot anyway.” He saw that she was genuinely bothered. “It’s ‘Museum’.” He opened the door. “Oh, there was a package of teaching materials came in for you today. It’s over here... It’s rather large, I’ll bring it up for you later.”

“Could carry that for you, Miss Calendar? Got a free period now.” Xander was all but bouncing on the spot, his eyes flickering anxiously between Giles and Jenny. She looked a little surprised.

“Thank you, Xander, that would be helpful.”

“He’s only doing it because it isn’t wrapped in brown paper,” put in Giles, equally helpfully, and retreated into his office. As he put his head back out, armed with the delivery list, he heard Jenny’s bewildered voice from the doorway.

“What am I supposed to have in brown paper parcels?”

He made a point of being prompt to the staff meeting, particularly because he knew that Jenny wouldn’t be: he knew her schedule for the end of the day. He picked his seat with care, and waited while the staff room filled. When she came through the door, she hesitated, looking around; he rose at once.

“There’s, there’s a chair here, Miss Calendar. I’ll just...” and he motioned her to the chair he was leaving, and pulled one of the stackables over for his own use.

He saw her realise what he had done. She couldn’t refuse him without making herself conspicuous; the chair he was offering her was low and soft, and almost impossible to get either into or out of with any show of dignity. She managed it very well, he had to admit, keeping her back straight and her knees together as she sank into the marshmallow cushion, smiling at him thinly, and leaning over to say softly, “Twenty-two months or not, you’re a bastard,” as she crossed her ankles and folded her legs under the chair to keep her knees low.

He allowed her to catch him twice looking at her legs during the meeting; once, he ostentatiously removed his spectacles and reached into his pocket, and saw the sudden flash of panicked laughter cross her face. He was more generous at the end of the meeting, placing himself in front of the chair to screen her, and offering her his hand to allow her to lever herself up.

“Well done,” he approved; “I don’t think you flashed anybody except Mr Honeycutt, and he plays for the other team so he won’t make anything of it.”

If he thought to surprise her, he was out of luck. “He’ll be disappointed that you’re hanging around me. He’s had his eye on your ass for half a semester, Rupert.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I pretend not to notice. I believe it’s a matter of some dispute in the staffroom as to whether or not I’m aware of it.”  He walked her to the car park, and stood by her car as she searched for her keys. “Eight o’clock, Jenny? I, I have to see Buffy out on patrol, and she’ll call in afterwards, but other than that, we shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“You shouldn’t, you mean,” she said ruefully. He frowned. He enjoyed pushing limits, but he had no taste for genuine unwillingness.

“Jenny...?”

She scowled at him, not very seriously. “My last class thinks I’ve lost the plot, Rupert. I knocked over a box of floppy disks and didn’t dare bend over to retrieve them; I had to make McKenzie do it. And once I’d started, I couldn’t stop: two minutes later I dropped my text book, and five minutes after that I dropped the board eraser and knocked an entire stack of test papers off the desk with my elbow when I tried to catch it. Then I wanted a folder from the top shelf, and couldn’t risk using the stool to fetch it down. Harmony said the room was too hot and asked if we could have a window open, and I started to stretch for the window pole and panicked... Yes, you may laugh, Rupert Giles, but I’m going to make you pay for this!” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Did you know, Rupert, that you can _shop_ on the internet? I think that between now and eight o’clock, I’m going to track down a cock ring. I think you would look _lovely_ in a cock ring. And I’m sure it would improve your... disposition.”

He shook his head. “Don’t waste your money. I’ve got one.” He smiled innocently at her. “I’ve got a toy box. Handcuffs, Miss Calendar? Ankle bars? If you’re _very_ good, I’ll let you look.” He leaned in for a kiss, ignoring the approving whoop from a couple of senior boys outside the gate. “And if it’s any consolation, I’ve been hard more or less all afternoon. Eight, Jenny?”

At home he showered, planning as he washed, and dressed. Jenny’s interest in his silk underwear had not escaped him; it had been a parting gift, not entirely serious, from the woman he had left in London to come to California. They had both admitted, when he had told her that ‘his employer was relocating him’, that their relationship was too superficial to be maintained at a distance; then they had spent one last – heated – weekend together and parted regretfully but without dismay. Claire wouldn’t resent him using her gift to attract another woman; he had no doubt that the soft suede flogger he had given her in exchange had been used by, or on, another man well before now. He ate, lightly, denying himself his usual Friday night Scotch in favour of a bottle of wine put aside for later. Much later.

Buffy and her hangers-on crashed through his flat at seven, only half attending to his advice and instructions, passing like locusts through his kitchen cupboards – he had to put on his most severe tones to get them to leave alone the delicatessen tray he had purchased to make a supper for Jenny. Xander looked at it, eyed him up and down, obviously taking in the pressed shirt and freshly shaved face, grinned and winked – and said nothing.

The quiet when they had all gone again was delightful; he was fond of them but there were definitely times when he wanted _adult_ conversation – not necessarily, he thought ruefully, ‘adult’ meaning sexual, but adult conversation not revolving around junk food, music, shopping, shoes and cute boys. Literature, perhaps; politics. Science.

The tap at the door startled him; he had long since ceased to be accustomed to people who knocked at the door and then _waited for permission to enter_. Well, some of that, of course, was that if they needed permission to enter, they didn’t have it, but...

He opened the door.

Jenny had changed her blouse, and when he leaned to kiss her, her perfume was sharply citrus; he thought with a suppressed smile that she had probably taken as much care as he had himself, but she was still wearing the same skirt as earlier.

“Hey.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Hello. New, new shoes?” And so much for the conversational gambits he had been sneering at.

She held out a foot. “Is it a Watcher thing, noticing that I’ve changed my shoes?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s a pervert thing – I don’t know how you can walk in heels that high, but I’m, I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

She gave the snort of amusement which always made him smile. “Have you no shame?”

He pretended to consider. “No, I don’t think so. Should I have?”

“You’re supposed to be upholding the reputation of the English, you know, Snobby. All uptight and repressed.”

“That’s me,” he agreed. “Uptight and repressed. I shall invite you to sit on my couch and make polite conversation. Would you like a cup of coffee? I, I have a bottle of wine, but I was thinking of saving that until after Buffy and her friends have signed off. I have some cheese, and olives, too; I think I remember that you like the queen olives with almonds inside?”

He actually did make conversation while they drank their coffee and ate; polite nothings about the school, about local news items, about a reported archaeological find in Syria. Nothing suggestive in any way, but he could see that Jenny was beginning to fidget. He glanced at the clock, made a rapid calculation in his head, and took her coffee cup from her, returning it with his own to the kitchen and coming to loom over her, taking full advantage of his size .

“Uptight and repressed, I believe you said. I’m, I’m uptight about my paperwork and the fact that you didn’t do it. Do we need to discuss you not doing it?”

She shook her head, innocently; he backed up to the couch, sat, and patted his thigh. “Come here, then, Jenny. Across my knee, please.”

There was nothing to her: she was slight enough that he could lift and arrange her as he pleased. He hooked a hand around her ankle, pulling her legs up onto the cushions of the couch, and settled her shoulders on the cushions on his other side.

“There. Now I can see the pretty shoes – they _are_ pretty, Jenny – and you won’t get a rush of blood to the head. Because, my girl, I think I’m going to keep you here for quite some time.” He rubbed her back gently until she relaxed, folding her arms and resting her cheek on top, letting herself go limp. He began to inch her skirt up her thighs, running his fingertips lightly over the nylon of her stockings. She squirmed.

“Jenny, are you _ticklish_?” he asked, in a darkly delighted voice. She squirmed again, turning her face into her elbow. He smacked her sharply, and she jumped.

“Answer me: are you ticklish?”

“Yes,” she admitted, and squirmed again at his chuckle.

“Oh dear.” His fingers trailed higher on her thigh; her skirt rose another inch, riding clear of her stocking tops. He let his palm curve around her thigh, his thumb exploring the tender skin. Her skirt caught, and he slid his other hand beneath her, coaxing her to lift her hips until he could free the fabric and push it – he was suddenly impatient – to her waist.

She was beautiful, pale and bare, smooth and curved, and his hand went instinctively to caress and pet.

And smack. One hard slap, with the strength of his powerful frame behind it, to raise a scarlet handprint and to make her jump and squeal.

And another, to balance left and right; this time she squirmed briefly, catching her breath. He set to work, not as hard: he wanted her wriggling and breathless, smarting and yelping, hot and sore but not bruised. He teased, setting up a rhythm until he saw her begin to relax into it, and then breaking it to smack irregularly at a single spot. She jerked on his lap, giving little squeaks of not-quite-objection, trying to shift enough that he would have to address a new place; he was disobliging until she whimpered, when he delivered a volley of sharp slaps low down, reddening the delicate undercurve of her bottom, and then returning to place one smack on the previous spot before choosing another for his target. She was richly coloured from top swell to mid thigh when he stopped, shaking his hand unselfconsciously, and giving silent thanks for a swordsman’s calluses. She twisted to look at him, her hair tangled, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright, lip bitten in the attempt to keep silent.

“Up.”

She rose obediently, and her hands went behind her; he grasped her wrists. “Ah, no, Jenny, no rubbing. Now, hold your skirt up, please. Yes, like that. Turn around.”

She turned, still obedient, facing away from him; he ran both hands over the scarlet curves and she shuddered. He leaned in to kiss the heated swell, and heard her breath stutter in her throat and turn to an odd uncontrolled sound as he first licked and then lightly bit the skin.

“Sore, Jenny?”

She gave a nod, but didn’t turn her head.

“Shall I kiss it better?”

Now she did look round, fixing him with an impudent eye. “Better than what?”

He landed another smack, and followed it with a kiss. “I believe you called me a pervert, madam. Turn.”

She twisted to face him and he encouraged her closer, between his parted knees. His hands slipped up the back of her thighs to the hot tender skin; she jumped when he tapped it.

“Closer.” Oh yes, she had enjoyed that. At this distance the evidence was unmistakeable. “Put your hands on my shoulders. I shouldn’t like you to overbalance.”

She looked startled, but did as she was told; he tugged to bring her close, hooked his arm around her leg for support and slid his thumb into the slick wet crease between her thighs. She made a hoarse sound and leaned forward onto his waiting mouth.

He loved going down on a woman, always had. Loved the responses, loved the sensations, the taste, the feel... Jenny seemed as enthusiastic as he was himself, encouraging him with little squeaks and purrs and half finished sentences. He knew he was getting it right when her weight began to tip onto his shoulders; he unhooked one arm from the back of her thighs and slipped two fingers in to probe, feeling her muscles clutch at him as her breath shortened and her knees threatened to give. He was all but holding her up when she cried out as if startled, and ground herself against him as he tongued her hard, easing off when she tried to rock away, catching her weight and helping her to slide to the floor, her head against his knee. When he gathered her lightly up into his lap, she was trembling, but she smiled dazedly at him, and rested her head against his shoulder, eyes closing.

He gave her five minutes.

“The children will be here shortly.” He drew out his handkerchief, and carefully wiped his face; she blinked at him, absorbing what he had said.

“Oh. Oh! I’ll just...” She struggled to her feet, smoothing her skirt down, and tucking in her blouse. “God, I’m a mess, Rupert! That was fantastic... I’ll just go and tidy up a bit.”

He put on his best strict librarian voice. “You will not.”

She gaped at him; he allowed his amusement to show, even as he reached over and untangled her hair, fingering it smooth. “I like you looking a little... rumpled.”

She actually giggled, and her fingers fluttered over her skirt. “This is more than rumpled, Rupert. I’m a bit...”

“You’re flushed and a _little_ untidy, and thoroughly wet, and comprehensively spanked,” he agreed, “and you’ll stay that way until they leave again.” His tone darkened. “Because I like it. I like thinking that you’re still throbbing under that smart little skirt, and I know, and they won’t.”

“Won’t they?” she asked doubtfully, walking rather unsteadily – the shoes, he wondered, or the orgasm? – towards his wall mirror, and giving a little shriek at her own reflection. “Rupert, they will! Anybody would! Gods, look at me!”

“I am looking,” he said simply. He thought she looked magnificent, with her skin flushed and her pupils still dilated. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling into her neck. “You look wonderful.” He nipped at her throat. “And you smell wonderful.” That was ambiguous. His fingers slipped under the hem of her skirt and he felt her jump. “And you taste wonderful.” That wasn’t ambiguous _at all_ , and she jumped again. “Buffy won’t notice, and Willow won’t notice, and Xander won’t notice, because Giles is a boring old librarian and boring old librarians don’t have sex, so Giles can’t have been having sex.” He ground his erection against her. “And actually, that’s true. Miss Calendar has been having sex but Giles hasn’t, and Giles likes to think of the state in which Miss Calendar finds herself, and the possibility that Giles might get to have sex later.” He kissed her throat again. “Don’t you like the idea of being all improper underneath and them not knowing? Didn’t you like it this afternoon, for all you complained about not being able to bend down to pick anything up? You did, Jenny. You liked it. It’s not as if there’s a risk. They won’t know. You know they won’t.”

She bit her lip, smoothed down her skirt again, and nodded; his ear caught Buffy’s tones in the courtyard and he added smoothly, “Well, those three won’t. Oz, of course, is another matter. Werewolf senses, you know.”

She was a beat behind; Buffy had the door open before she caught up with what he had said, and he heard the squeak of blind panic. He was hard put not to laugh: he _saw_ her think about breaking for the bathroom, and he closed his fingers on her elbow to stop her just as she realised that Xander was shutting the door, and that Oz was absent. Her response to the children’s greeting was a little off-centre, but they didn’t seem to notice on their way to Giles’ kitchen cupboards, although Willow paused to say admiringly, ‘Cool shoes, Miss Calendar!”

“Aren’t they?” agreed Giles cheerfully. “I said so too.” He got an odd look from Xander for that; Xander, he remembered, _had_ noticed that Giles had been making an effort on Jenny’s behalf. Perhaps he wasn’t quite correct in his assertion that they would notice nothing, but he was certain that Xander wouldn’t say anything.

“Is Oz not with you?” Jenny’s voice was pitched a little high, but Willow didn’t even look round.

“He’s never here Fridays, the Dingoes have a regular Friday night spot this semester.”

Jenny glanced at Giles. “I must have misunderstood you, Rupert; I thought you said you were expecting him.”

He shook his head innocently in the face of her Glare of Death. “ I, I don’t think I said that, did I? Willow’s right, he’s never here on Fridays. Would, would you like a glass of wine? Red or white? I, I have to say, I don’t think of you as having a preference for white. I can picture you with, with blush, or a good heavy red.”

Their eyes met, hers sparking with amused indignation.

It took half an hour for him to get post-patrol adrenaline-high Buffy out of the flat, half an hour which left his kitchen looking like the aftermath of the retreat from Moscow. He turned from locking the door (for once) to find Jenny Calendar right up close, digging him under the lowest rib with an extremely sharp finger.

“You are a _complete_ bastard!”

He set his own finger on her lips, and shook his head seriously. “I believe I’ve told you before about your language, madam, which is _disgraceful_.”

“You did that on purpose! You _deliberately_ got me all... all... and then you said that Oz would...” She ran out of words and dug him twice more with the pointy finger. He twisted away, laughing; she narrowed her eyes.

“Oooh, you are _so_ going to make that up to me, Rupert Giles! And remarks about blush, and heavy red! You are a _total_ bastard!”

He trapped her hands carefully. “No, really, Jenny, we can’t have this sort of language. We simply can’t. No lady would use such words.” He kissed her, softly at first, and then more demandingly, until she relaxed against him, smiling, and shaking her head.

“I’m not sure I ever qualified as a ‘lady’, Rupert. I don’t know why you would have thought I did. A lady doesn’t wander round a school with her underwear in some man’s pocket.” She cocked her head. “Mind you, a gentleman wouldn’t have a lady’s underwear in his pocket, either, so maybe we should be asking about you?”

He grinned. “Me? Cad and bounder. Rotter to the core. And you like that, don’t you? If you want to be spanked and licked out, you want a rotter, not a gentleman.”

“I shouldn’t have stopped at five when I paddled you,” she mourned. “I should have just kept going.”

He nodded. “Probably, yes.”

She brightened, theatrically. “But you said you had tried a leather paddle? And you have a toybox? So do you have a paddle here, Rupert? It might not be too late.”

He shook his head. “The paddle wasn’t mine.” He tipped his head enquiringly. “I, I have other things, though, that might interest you.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I have a cane, Jenny, a nice swishy one. Ever been caned?”

She was definitely interested, he thought, but apprehensive and suspicious. “No.” And then, almost unwillingly, “What’s it like?”

He turned her gently by the shoulders, and walked her to his desk, pushing lightly on her back to persuade her to bend, and sliding a hand under her skirt, easing it up and back over her hips. She was still red, and he palmed the flesh gently; she arched her back to facilitate him and he slid his fingers between her thighs. “Painful.” He teased over the tender skin. “Startling.” She widened her legs instinctively and he stepped close enough for her to feel his arousal, close enough to rub against her. “ _Exciting_. Want to try?”

She hesitated. “I – don’t know.” She looked back over her shoulder. “You want to do it.”

“I would like,” he said deliberately, “to stripe your beautiful arse, and then to fuck you, just here, over my desk, while you were still squirming. I think you could give good squirm. And I think you would like it.” He patted her rump affectionately and she pushed up, cat-like, to his hand.

“Yes, but... if I didn’t...”

“Babbage, you said. If you didn’t like it, I would pay you back. A stripe on my backside for every one you said you didn’t like, Jenny. Hard as you can manage. Full strength.” And he would deal them out at a lot less than full strength until he was _certain_ that she liked it; he was sure she knew that.

She frowned, thinking. “Two for one, Rupert, if you’re wrong. And a fuck on your desk either way.”

He smacked her hard. “Deal. Nose to that desk, madam, arse up and you can just wait while I fetch the cane.”

She was already squirming as he came down the stairs.   


End file.
